


B x L One-Shots

by Lapwing_1835



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga), Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Angst, Beyond Birthday is His Own Warning, Codependency, Domestic Fluff, Exhibitionism, Fluff, Insomnia, Jealousy, M/M, Obsession, Obsessive Behavior, One Shot, Possessive Behavior, Self-Indulgent, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:01:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26639239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lapwing_1835/pseuds/Lapwing_1835
Summary: Newton's first law of motion-- sometimes referred to as the law of inertia-- reads: "An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion with the same speed and in the same direction unless acted upon by an unbalanced force." [B x L one-shots paired with a very imaginative title, I'm sure.]
Relationships: Beyond Birthday/L
Comments: 3
Kudos: 23





	1. Jealousy

**Author's Note:**

> Domestic AU: They're both young adults and have been dating since high school. I might write another in this AU as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw Asa, if you’re reading this: Don’t, I sent you most of these but the ones I didn’t are just vent-works that are probably OOC and I thought would trigger you.

It hadn't even been B's idea. 

It had been two days and sixteen hours since L had left-- B had counted, and he knew that he could expect him to call in three days; L had always been disturbingly habitual. B was at the cigarette shoppe on the corner, buying candy so he could put it in a bowl by the fireplace because L had taken one candy from it two months ago so that meant he wanted B to, when a girl that he'd often seen there had walked up to him, blushing a bit. She said she'd seen him there often. 

She'd asked if he wanted to go on a date. He said yes, only because he told himself, passive-aggressively, that L wouldn't care anyway, while hoping that he'd be bothered. He hadn't expected it to actually work.

He took the girl to a cafe across from L's office building-- well, L didn't work in an office building, he rented his own space so that no one would bother him while he worked, no one meaning B. Half the time, B convinced L to stay in the apartment anyway, but whenever L had- fits- like these, he would go to his office, and B knew from experience that it was better to let L decide when to contact B next. 

B never had to wait very long; L couldn't help himself. 

Still, B knew the chances of L actually going to this cafe were slim; L wasn't one who liked to go out to public spaces, something he had impressed on B, repeatedly and at length. So, the whole thing was an exercise in chance. B almost felt sorry for the girl. 

B realized five minutes in that he didn't like the girl, that he wouldn't talk to her again if he didn't have to, but it was- nice, in a way. Nice to not have to think his words through before he said them so everything he said had to be perfect for the one across from him, to not analyze the distance of their hands on the table, to call her sweet when she got a bit of cream on her nose and to not have her scowl as if B had insulted her mother. 

Engrossed in this phenomenon as he was, thinking that maybe the conversation hadn't been so bad, B was utterly taken by surprise when the laughing face across from him was suddenly doused in B's discarded lukewarm coffee by a disembodied hand. B looked up- to find L, positively scowling. Once he recognized the man, he laughed. 

'Come on,' L said, turning around and walking towards the exit, not waiting to see if B would follow. B glanced apologetically towards the confused girl-- who would probably be a lot angrier when she realized that she had to deal with the paycheck- and followed him. L evidently didn't want to make a scene in public; he walked into the alley next to the cafe and only then turned around. As expected, B had followed him. 'What is it?' B asked, but almost boredly, like all the amusement had drained out of his tone and he was only saying his lines because they were the only things he knew how to say, 'I have a date to get back to.' 

L, as expected, is not amused. 'What the hell was that?' he asks, his voice showing a lot more emotion than usual. It's not a surprise to B, though, he knows L too well for anything he says to be a surprise anymore. 

'What was what?' B asks innocently, and feels a moment of genuine loss; he'd liked talking to the girl. 'I was just going out for coffee with someone, Lawliet.' 

'Stop playing innocent,' L says, glaring at B darkly, his hands in his pockets. 'You knew that I'd come here, you knew I'd see you two, in fact- I bet you're the one who broke the coffee machine.' L's brows furrow even more at this perceived outrage. B can't help but think he looks cute when he's angry. 

But this is news to B, and he genuinely frowns at him-- he doesn't like being accused of things he didn't do. 'You're being paranoid again. I didn't break your coffee machine. I was just going out for coffee with someone and I don't see how that's a crime.' 

'Don't lie. Why would you come here, then, the cafe across from my office building? Try to be a little less obvious next time, hmm?' 

B felt himself get angry too. 'Paranoid! P-A-R-A-N-O-I-D!' he said loudly. 'Am I not allowed to talk to someone other than you?' B tried not to acknowledge to himself that he needed the five days in between their arguments as much as L did. 

'What's her name? How did you even meet?' L asks. He sounds like a detective. It's one of the things he does in arguments, B has found, treating him clinically, like a particularly stubborn criminal. B wants to tell him to drop the act-- he's known him longer than he's been a detective, anyway. 

'Not that you care, but we met at the corner store, and she asked me out for coffee. It's not rocket science, Lawliet.' 

L scoffs. 'She asked you out for coffee? More like you pulled her into an alley and told her that if she didn't go with you that you'd stab her in the throat.' 

The line is old and stale and practically scratches B's throat as from overuse as he says it, but he says it anyway. 'Your low opinion wounds me.' He pauses. 'I'm not completely unattractive, you know.' 

'No, I suppose you're not, it's your personality that's the real kicker.' L sighs, and most of the fight goes out of him. He slumps on the alley wall next to B. 'Why would you even bother? Talking to her, I mean.' 

B shrugs, and turns his body slightly to face L. 'I felt like it. Wondered what it would be like.'

'Did you enjoy it?'

'Yeah.' 

L scoffs again. 'No, you didn't.' 

B's almost genuinely offended. 'Why do you say that?' 

'You said that you're only interested in having conversations with me.' 

'I've said a lot of things.' 

L hums in acknowledgement.

B turns to face the other alley wall again; somehow, it's easier to speak without looking at L. 'I liked it, you know. I liked talking to her. I liked that she didn't spend the entire time complaining. I liked that she giggled when I took her hand under the table.' B pauses. He knows that the next thing he will say will set the clock back by at least three days, maybe four, but- 'I liked that if I got her a vase of flowers, she wouldn't throw it at me.' 

L sighs audibly, probably so that B can hear him. 'I told you several times that I'd estimated a 90% chance that it was plastic. I was as surprised as you were. I also told you that I've never seen the point of flower giving and probably never will.' 

B is not necessarily eager to rehash old arguments. 'Why are you so upset, anyway?' He turns to face L, bothers to smile for the first time. 'Were you jealous?' 

L scowls and looks at the ground. 'You've never been on a date with anyone but me.'

B lets out an exaggerated gasp of surprise. 'Oh, so you are jealous!' He reaches out and tilts L's chin towards him. L slaps his hand away, but looks up. He doesn't say anything.   
B doesn't think before he speaks. 'Hey, Lawli.'

L looks over at him, apparently seeing that as an acknowledgement.

'You still need coffee, right? Do you want to get it with me?' He pauses. 'If you don't, I'll stab you in the throat.' 

To B's surprise- huh, so L can surprise him- L nods. 'Fine.' He pushes himself off the wall and slouches past B. 'We have to find a different cafe.' He doesn't even look remotely fazed by B's remark.

B follows him. 'There's another one down the street, I know because I overheard the staff talking about how they're always in competition with it,' he says, eager, way too eager, always way too eager to make L dig himself deeper in before he changes his mind. L stops walking for a minute, wordlessly expressing that B can lead the way, and B thinks that it wouldn't kill L to actually say something once in a while. He would take L's hand if he didn't think that L would go back immediately to his office building if he did that. 

The doorbell rings as they enter-- the other cafe didn't have a doorbell, and B absently acknowledges that this cafe does seem a lot more upscale; the other one has a right to worry about competition. B and L walk to the counter. B waits to see if L will speak to order before doing so himself-- L does not speak. B tilts his head back and surveys the billboard. 'Two hot coffees, please, cream and sugar for both.' The girl at the counter nods, and repeats the order to another staff; B doesn't see her, he's looking at L, who's looking at him. B tilts his head, softly, as if to ask, 'What?' and feels that all-too-familiar ache of relief that he's actually looking at L, he missed him so much. L tilts his head in response. 

The girl puts their coffees on the counter- L takes one of them and immediately sips it, stepping back-- B assumes this means that L wants him to pay. B is glad that he'd brought enough money to do, though he's a bit guilty that he left the girl there; he thinks that maybe he won't go back to that corner store for a while. 

L looks at B when the girl turns away. 'I assume that you want to sit?' He asks in the tone of a martyr. B takes his own coffee, and walks to one of the empty tables, in the back of the cafe, where barely anyone can see them. After a pause, L follows-- B wasn't sure if he would. 

B knows that L isn't going to initiate a conversation, but B doesn't feel like initiating one either-- most of the time, their conversations are just an excuse to think of ways to one-up each other, and B- B doesn't feel like it right now. After a few minutes, he nudges L's leg. L looks up from staring broodily into his cup and raises his eyebrows. B leans forward and takes L's hand under the table. L looks at him for a moment, then goes back to his coffee. His fingers curl around B's. 

L has always been terrible at apologies.


	2. Self-Sabotage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-sabotage is when we actively or passively take steps to prevent ourselves from reaching our goals. This behavior can affect nearly every aspect of life be it a relationship, a career goal, or a personal goal such as weight loss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: An*rexia  
> Probably OOC so my apologies for that.  
> Set in Wammy's when they're both teenagers. (Pre-LABB).

I left L's room at six pm. I have seven hours before he's expecting me back. He's not going to sleep in those hours. He's going to work on cases or read books or play chess by himself but he's not going to sleep. 

I could sleep. I didn't used to sleep. Before he arrived, I used to sleep three, four hours a day. Now, when it's even more useful for me not to, I'm sleeping what- ten. I don't deserve to say I have insomnia. 

I lay down in bed, close my eyes...

...I can't sleep. Sometimes I can, during these times, but usually I can't. Not when I'm supposed to sleep. 

L is very observant. I hate how observant L is. He can always tell when I'm about to fall asleep. I can't sleep in his room; he'd never let me. But he doesn't want me to leave either. Do you know how much of a rarity that is? That he doesn't want me to leave? 

I claim to love him and yet I leave anyway. I walk out of his room and back to mine and lay down and sleep.

He's going to find other means of entertainment without me. I dare to get jealous that he's playing chess with other people, that he's talking to them, when I don't have the decency to be there? Of course he wouldn't wait for me. 

I'm wasting so much time. He's going to leave soon, we're going to have so much less time, I'm not even voicing to myself how much time we have.

One week and three days. Ten days. Ten days. Ten days, ten days, ten days, ten days. That means that if I sleep for six hours when I could be talking to L, I'm wasting a small percent of that. Gone. Gone forever. Soon, he'll be half-gone, soon, he'll be completely gone, and I don't know how I'll survive. I just know he'll forget me, I'll matter so much less to him, I'll be so sad without him... and yet I'm wasting the time we have.

With sleep.

I lay down in my bed and wait for myself to fall asleep anyway. I fantasize about kissing L while I'm falling asleep. I set my alarm for one am. 

It goes off. 

I don't get up.

I don't deserve him. He's going to hate me anyway and I deserve it.

I don't deserve him because I ate lunch today. 

\--

'What did you even eat today, L?'

L thinks for a moment. 'I had... half of my dinner last night.' 

'I see,' I say, and think about the breakfast I'd had earlier today. It had been a rhetorical question; I knew how much L had eaten. I'd mainly just asked it... well, I'd mainly just asked it because hearing it from his lips made me want to throw up. 

'I know it's not very healthy,' he complains, sprawling at his couch and looking at the ceiling, not at me. I hadn't been here last night and he's annoyed with me about it. I like that, I like it so much, I like it way too much. 

I love that he's annoyed with me because it means that he'd wanted me to be here, and I love that he's annoyed with me because I don't deserve for him to feel anything positive for me anyway. 'But I'm just not hungry,' he finishes. 'I sit down and I just get distracted and as soon as I know it, it's three hours later and only half of the plate is gone.' 

'What about Watari?' I ask carefully; careful to sound idly curious instead of memorizing his words to tell myself later and feel like I'm shoving knives down my throat. 

'Eh, he doesn't really care,' he says. 'I mean, he does get on my case about it, but I mostly just ignore him.'

Roger gets on my case, when I don't eat, a lot less than Watari does and yet I still don't manage. 

L thinks for a moment. 'In fact, I still have my lunch here, if you want it; I didn't touch it.' 

Now, logically, I know that I'll gain just as much weight from L's food than from food in the cafeteria. Besides, it's L's rejects, and if I want to be L than I should reject the same things he does.

But I tell myself that because it's L's food, it's okay that I eat it-- I think I'm trying to disguise that I just want to eat and I don't care where it's from. 

(I'm trying to disguise that I want to gorge myself in front of L and have him look at me with disgust and wonder how he was ever interested in me and have him kick me in the stomach so that I throw up all over his couch.) 

I realize that I'm still staring at the plate. Sarcastically, L asks, 'Do you want me to feed it to you, then?'

I look up at him and feel such a surge of desire it leaves me aching. L- L is so cold and untouchable and- 'Yes,' I say, half-joking so L doesn't feel obligated.

He gives me one of his signature smiles; really, just the corners of his mouth turning up, a slight smirk- anyone else would be afraid to be at his mercy. I don't trust him but I want him so much that I'll take whatever he can give me. 

He takes a piece of roasted potato from the plate and puts it to my lips. I open them. I eat the rest of the meal in the same way, him feeding me with that slight half-smirk on his face. I can feel it all-- L's fingers, gently resting against my lips, the taste and texture of the food, the bile rising in my throat, my arousal as L keeps looking at me like that.

I want to curl up into L's side and sleep forever and only eat food that he feeds me-- I want it so much. He sets the plate down, puts his fingers in my mouth-- I realize that he wants me to lick them clean. I do. I could do that again, and again; I almost surge forward as he takes them out, but I contain myself. 

I bring my legs up and curl into his side. He lets me, for a moment, but then unceremoniously shoves me off him. 

\--

I'm sitting in the cafeteria that night. I have a plate in front of me. I don't need to have it in front of me, I could have stayed in my room and no one would have came to check on me. No one forced me to be here. 

I'm useless. I'm a failure. Useless failure, useless failure, useless failure, useless failure. I start eating. 

I shouldn't be doing this. I have a million and one reasons why I shouldn't be doing this. I need to starve myself because that's why L is here, that's why L is real, that's how I can rationalize to myself that L stays with me because I put this effort in and that's how I get him to stay here, right? Doesn't make sense, but nothing ever does. 

I just want to be good for him, I just want to be good for him, I just want to-

I stand up from the table, leaving my food there. I walk- almost run- to L's room. I try to collect my breathing and knock on the door. 

L opens the door. He knows how I'm really feeling. 

I failed. Maybe he was once interested in me, but now he just keeps me around because it feeds his ego to have someone so desperate to please him. I try to pretend I don't like that-- pretend that I don't love that he keeps me around at all.

In any case, there's no point in pretending that I'm not upset; he probably knows why. He's a detective, after all. Once I see his face, I can't control myself anyway.

I half-ran to him, clutch the front of his shirt, bury my face in it, and start sobbing. 

'I ate dinner. I shouldn't have but I did. I'm bad, I'm so bad, I'm so bad, I'm so bad-' my voice fades into incoherence mixed with the sounds of my crying and I'm still clutching his shirt because I don't know whether he's about to push me off him or whether he's smiling that smirk of his and I love that smirk of his because it means that I don't have to leave. 

I hear his voice and I can tell he's smirking. He starts threading his fingers though my hair and I love it and I hate it and I love it-- love it because he's touching me, hate it because I don't think he means it, and love it because it makes me feel like shit and I want to feel like shit. 

'You're bad, are you now?' and I love how he sounds like that, how he's picking apart my emotions like they're a particularly interesting case, and I don't trust him at all but I want to be at his mercy. He knows this is exactly what I want. 'Because you ate food.'

'You're right. That's a crime. You shouldn't do that if you want to succeed me.' And I know he couldn't care less but he knows I care and I love that he's using it against me. 

'Alright, I'll punish you.' My heart is beating very fast and I want him to, I really want him to, I think I utter some kind of wordless plea-

He pushes me away; unprepared, I fall to the floor. 

'Leave. Leave and don't come back unless you haven't eaten in twenty-four hours. Don't lie, I'll know, and make it forty-eight.' 

I stare up at him in wordless astonishment. 

'Go,' he says casually. 

I get up, and leave.

The next day, I come back. I haven't eaten, or slept. Neither has he. 

He pulls me to him, threads his fingers through my hair. Teasingly, he says,

'Good.'


	3. Cold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this for a roleplay so it's quite a bit out of context, but I'm proud of it so I decided to post it anyway. Some context: L and B's relationship is established and they spent a lot of time with each other for two weeks before L left.

The first time B goes to Roger's office, he is called. Roger was told that he misbehaved, but not how, a fact that frustrated the man-- but Quillish had known that if Roger had known the details, B would never have been forgiven. To be honest, Quillish wasn't sure that he forgave B either, not sure at all, but L had asked that B not face undue consequences and what L asked for, L received. 

And so, B was told that he was not allowed to leave Wammy's grounds, which would normally have annoyed him greatly and he would have taken the risk anyway, but all he had outside Wammy's was his hospice, and... he didn't want to go there anymore. He was told that his position would be compromised if he ever hurt or threatened any of the children, but B hadn't planned on doing that anyway, he only cared for L; or if his grades dropped, but he could bet that he cared about his grades a lot more than Roger did. 

During that first visit, B listened to Roger quietly, and found that he did not hate the man as much as he thought he once did. He did not hate him at all. This was for the sheer reason that being around L had made him realize that all the emotions he had felt prior were poor imitations, ghosts of real emotion. He didn't feel anything towards anyone or anything. He didn't think Roger hated him either. He thought Roger was annoyed by him, disliked him, maybe even felt threatened by him, but he didn't hate him. 

When the man dismisses him, he goes up to the roof. It's like a game of roulette. B has one in six chances to get hit in the head with a bullet, so the more he plays, the more chances he has. He met L when he was sitting on the roof. Therefore, if L did come back, B would be more likely to see him if he spent most of his time on the roof. And so he does. 

B has perfected the art of insomnia. He used to be worse at it-- no, he used to be alright, but he had to work at it. Now, it comes easy. It just makes sense to get three, two hours of sleep a night, to climb up to the roof when he finishes his afternoon classes and not come down until six in the morning because he needs to sleep before his first class. 

He thinks L might be imaginary. He thinks he might've made the whole thing up. He doesn't like thinking that he made the whole thing up. He cut scraps off of one of L's shirts, that he still had, and carried them around. He takes it out of his pocket, now, it's three am, the white material blurring in front of his eyes. He keeps seeing faint lights coming up the driveway, and he waits for the car to pull up, but it never does. Suddenly, the material is blinking before his eyes, from white to black to white to black to white, and maybe he cut a piece off of one of his own shirts instead, and the idea terrifies him. He wonders if he's gone insane. He thinks he might be. He just doesn't know if he's insane for thinking L was imaginary, or for thinking he was real. 

And so, the second time B goes to Roger's office is voluntary. 

He knocks on the door. Children rarely go to Roger's office when they're not called, so he's not sure what to expect when he calls, 'Come in.' 

He's absolutely flabbergasted when he sees who it is. 

B looks... different. He looks taller, and thinner, having stretched out as he grew; he also somehow looks more natural, almost elegant. Roger had thought that everything he had done, before, had seemed a little forced. The bags under his eyes had looked painted on. Even his misbehavior had seemed forced. 

Now, he looks effortless. He's wearing a plain black shirt, and black jeans, and his hands are in his pockets, and he looks utterly bored by his surroundings in a way that he'd never quite managed to capture before, and he looks a million times more like L than he ever had when he was trying. 

The boy walks forward, and pulls out a chair. 'May I sit?' 

Wordlessly, Roger inclines his head. B pulls out the chair, and sits down, and he doesn't pull his knees to his chest, but he looks like L who's choosing not to. 

B pulls a folded up piece of paper from his jeans pocket, smooths out the creases, puts it on the table, and slides it over to Roger. 'Do you know this boy?'

Roger realizes suddenly what it is that's reminding him of L. It's his eyes. He looks like he doesn't feel a thing. He used to look like he cared. He looked like he could rave at any opportunity. His eyes don't look dull, now; they look empty. But no, that's not quite it either. They look... cold. Very cold. But cruel, cruel in the cruelness of a blizzard that will trap a school of children and keep them there until they freeze, not out of maliciousness, but out of utter apathy, and that's a little bit terrifying, because someone with no motivations at all has no reason not to destroy you. 

Roger looks down at the paper, and first realizes that it's a sketch, a rather good one too, before taking in the details. When he has, he looks up again, as if to verify he'd gotten B's question right. B raises his eyebrows. 

'Excuse me?'

'I asked you,' B says, studying his nails, 'if you know who that boy is.' 

Roger is quite tempted to throw B out of his office for getting up to mischief, but... something stops him. He doesn't think this boy with piercing eyes would bother to play mischief on him. And so he looks down again. Carefully, he says, 'This is L.'

B breathes out, almost a sigh of relief. 'So I was right,' he says under his breath. He looks up. 'You're sure about that, Mr. Ruvie? You're sure that boy right there is L? He isn't me?' Roger looks down again. Whoever drew it- and Roger suspects B is the culprit- is quite a talented artist, and has expertly shown the differences between L and B, as well as the similarities. 

'I am quite certain it is L, B.' 

B inclines his head, and now, it is as if they are equals, and while Roger wouldn't normally like the idea of being an equal with one of his students, he thinks that before, B always looked down on him, and- part of him is sure that no matter what B will end up becoming, he will be remembered. Roger will not. So in a way, B was right. 

'Thank you.' B lowers his head again, thinking, and then reaches into his pocket and takes out what looks like a piece of cloth. 'And this. Can you tell me what color this is?'

Roger looks upon it. He gives it careful consideration. 'It is white.' 

B takes back both objects, and shoves them into his pockets. He stands up, walks to the door, and turns back. 'Thank you, Mr. Ruvie.' 

'Anytime.' Roger says, out of half duty and half intrigue. B stands there for a moment, then raises his left half, gives him a small, two-fingered wave, and leaves. It will not be the last time.


	4. Leaden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This, too, is written in the timeline of a roleplay, so it’ll probably make less sense out of context as well, but... basically all you need to get out of it is that B is a dependence type yandere, haha.

B lost L as soon as he stepped through the gates.

His steps gained new purpose, new determination; he started walking so quickly that B nearly had to run to catch up. He asked B, once, where the back door was, and B almost didn’t tell him, but he did, he led him to it and L didn’t say one more word to him until-

‘Goodnight, then,’ L said, turning and regarding B steadily, impassively. 

B couldn’t help it— a sort of broken, choked whimper forced its way out of his mouth and he automatically stepped closer but L just stepped away again so he stood there, helplessly.

Yes, helpless, that was an apt word, wasn’t it? He was helpless. Helpless to stop L from leaving, helpless to make L care about him enough to stay, helpless to kiss him one last time before he left. B was abruptly so angry at himself, for not taking the chances he could’ve, for not valuing L enough-

‘Please don’t leave,’ he said, his voice distorted and odd. ‘I didn’t mean anything I said, I’m sorry for anything I’ve done, I-‘

L cut him off by holding up an index finger. Without lowering it, he turned and started walking away. B followed desperately. 

‘L, you can’t leave, you can’t, I-‘ L was ignoring him now, utterly, and B thought “shouldn’t I be able to affect him more than that?” B thought he’d affected him, that he’d been able to convince him to want to stay, and this really wasn’t the time to feel insecure but that was a relief, in a way, because to feel insecure about L meant there was an L to feel insecure about. 

His final plea, ‘When will I see you again?’ finally prompted L to turn. ‘Never,‘ he said, ‘I’m leaving in the morning.’ 

That left B speechless, suddenly gasping for breath, and in the interim, L quietly slipped away in such a way that B almost didn’t know he was gone until he realized he was alone. 

—

It wasn't like B hadn't expected L to send him to his room after the carnival. All of B's power was gone as soon as they'd stepped in the grounds, and he'd upset L; of course he was going to send him back.

B just hadn't expected him to say he was leaving the next morning.

It could be an empty threat, sure, it could be an empty threat, an exaggeration, told by an overwrought boy who just wanted to hurt B like he'd hurt him, but-

He'd gone back to his room, of course, and curled up on his bed and starting crying and shaking and trying to breath because he couldn't think of what else he could do. L had been quite upset a few hours before-- B was almost certain he was more upset now than L had ever been. 

He forgot all words, in all languages, except 'no.' No, not you, not like this, please, no, don't leave me, no, please, not like this, I can't bear it, I need you so bad, I couldn't take it if you left me, you can't-

And then it faded, faded to an incoherent chant interspersed with sobs of no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, you can't, you can't, you can't, you can't, you can't-

Oh god, what if this was it? What if this was all he got? What if he never got to see L again or do any of the things he planned and his eyes had changed, now he saw things tinted-L, and if L left he thought he might cut his eyes out because they’d be useless to him. 

And then he took a piece of paper, and he wrote, 'Imagine looking back on this later.' Imagine looking back on this weeks after L's left and remembering this night and the hope you had this night. Because B just didn't know where he stood, he had absolutely no idea. What if L would- he couldn't even say it- and then it would be all B's fault? But should he really be concerned? He knew he'd gotten upset like this lots of times before- not like this, not like this- and it had come to nothing, but-

There was that fear coiled in his stomach, molten heavy metal fear, weighing him down and terrifying him. What if L was really about to leave this time? 

After a while, he started to feel numb. Completely numb. His mind slowly filled with static, the air around him felt heavy and weighted. He felt so far apart from it. 

Maybe L was going to leave in the morning. If he was, B should at least try to see him off. 

But B felt drained, drained to his core, he was tired; and half-against his will, he fell asleep. 

—

The first thing B did, when he woke up, was go and see if Watari’s car was still in the driveway. Well, no, that’s not entirely true; the first thing he did was go to the bathroom. He woke up, the events of the night before crashing in shards around him, and he was still completely numb. 

He felt like he was floating, like he was in a dream, his movements felt completely and utterly robotic, like he had to order his legs and arms to move like he was a puppeteer and his body was a puppet he was dangling on strings. In a daze, he drifted to the main entranceway, and looked outside.

Watari’s car was still there.

So L hadn’t left.

But maybe he was still going to, maybe he was packing up his things, so B should at least go and (try and convince him) see him off, right? 

So in a daze, B walked to L’s room, and he knocked on the door.

L said, ‘Come in.’

B walked into the room. L was sitting in the middle of the floor, playing with a puzzle. B went and sat next to him, asked him a quiet question, which L answered. B didn’t understand it. L smiled at him. B felt like he had whiplash.

‘So... you’re not leaving?’ B laughed, humorlessly.

L looked back at him. ‘That would appear to be the case, wouldn’t it.’ 

So... that was it? That was it? All that fear and L was here and smiling at him? B didn’t understand. One moment everything was alright, and then he blinked and his world was upside down and spattered in blood, and then he blinked again and it was back to normal. What? 

B was suddenly so angry at L, angry at L for making him worry so much, and he was relieved, that L was there, and he was afraid to feel relieved because what if L was about to leave anyway? 

But he was still so numb. L felt miles away. His words felt leaden and uncomfortable in his mouth. 

Well, B had found out what he wanted to. L hadn’t left. B was satisfied with that. He got up and he left the room. L normally made him feel so much. He didn’t feel anything. There was no point in talking to him like this. In a few hours, B would be back to normal, and his breakdown would be one of many. Not exceptional. 

But what if L tried to leave again?

So B carried on, with a piece of lead in his stomach.


	5. Narcotics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An infectious disease runs rampant in Wammy's House. The symptoms? Fever, shaking, headaches, insomnia, loss of appetite, listlessness, and suicidal ideation. The cause? The smartest scientists can't figure it out. The treatment? The smartest doctors say it's untreatable. But B knows better. B has found a narcotic, one that's against the rules, and he won't let anyone else have it.

In Wammy's House, after breakfast, there are exactly fifteen minutes before classes start. 

Some of the orphans spend this time talking to their friends, if they have any; most don't. That, or they spend it waiting outside their classes, hoping to gain favor by being early. 

B, the second-best orphan in the whole orphanage, spends this time in the bathroom. Not the bathroom closest to the dining hall, or the bathroom closest to his first class; no, he spends it in the bathroom closest to the basement, the one with only one sink, the sink that's broken and no one bothers to repair-- the one that no one goes in. 

Well, no one except B.

B and Him. 

\--

It wasn't an accident that B found out where L lived. 

Most of the kids don't know that L lives at Wammy's. After all, the idea is a bit absurd; how can L, the detective, the icon, the ideal, the voice from behind a computer screen-- how can he be human, never mind need somewhere to live? Half the kids are convinced that L is omnipresent, materializing as a voice only to grace them with a message every few months. 

B thinks that is foolish, as foolish as ordinary kids' beliefs in Father Christmas. Though, his opinion is influenced by an event that most people, if it happened to them, would consider to be pure luck. B doesn't think so. B thinks that the omnipresent force known as L favors him. 

Favors him enough to let him see him in his human form.

Pathetic, he was. B did not mean this in a derogatory way, but as a simple observation-- he was asleep, curled over a book in the library just like any other student. It seemed wrong, to B, somehow, that L should be somewhere so ordinary; it didn't fit. His surroundings should be as godly as he was. 

Godly might not be the right word, but he was beautiful, certainly. Beautiful in a way only B could see, perhaps-- beautiful in his closed eyes, in the slightly pensive expression on his face, in his soft breaths that B could just barely hear-- B backed away again. He couldn't explain why, exactly, but he didn't want to meet L here. Maybe because he looked like he could scuttle away as soon as he woke up. 

B drank in the sight of him. 

About an hour later, L woke up. B's legs were cramping from standing in the same position behind the bookshelf for that whole time, but he barely noticed it. L glanced around immediately upon realizing where he was, a bit panicked, and oh wasn't that a revelation, to know that L could be panicked about something. 

L didn't see B, for then he relaxed a bit, and after a moment, carefully crept out of the library. 

B followed him.

L walked down a flight of stairs, past the second entrance into the kitchens, past a dilapidated bathroom, and to a section of Wammy's House that no one went to, simply because nothing was there. B couldn't help but be proud of being able to go after him undetected. L opened the door to a supply closet and disappeared through it. When he didn't exit for several minutes, and there was no sound when B put his head to the door, he opened it.

It was not a supply closet at all. It was a staircase. Carefully, silently, B walked down. When he reached its bottom, he couldn't help but gasp, quietly. No harm came of the gasp- the room was empty. At least, of people. It was filled with books, and clothing, and papers, and technology, and an assortment of furniture, and- B caught sight of a dirty plate, balancing precariously on the arm of one of the couches - someone was living down here.

L was living down here. 

From behind him, came a voice. B whirled around. 

'What do you want?' L asked. 

L didn't seem surprised to see him there at all, only vaguely curious, and B felt a bit sheepish, suddenly, for daring to presume that he could have fooled L. 'You knew I was following you?'

'Yes,' L replied, putting his hands in his pockets, 'I knew you were following me ten paces after I left the library.' 

'Don't you want to know why?' B asked, a bit nonplussed-- he would've liked to have made a bit more of an impression on L, the first time he talked to him. Not that he ever thought he would've gotten to talk to him. 

'No,' L said, 'I know why you're following me. If I hadn't known, I would have asked.' 

'Why am I following you, then?' B asked, challengingly, unconsciously mirroring L's pose. 

'You're following me because you happened upon me in the library, and you realized who I am, and you followed me because you were scared to approach me but couldn't let me slip through your fingers,' L said boredly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

B was quiet for a moment, then asked, 'If you knew I was following you, then why did you lead me here?'

'Why do you think I left the door unlocked?' L asked rhetorically. 'I told you already. I want to know what you want.' 

B thought for a minute, thinking, but couldn't come up with an answer other than-

'I want you.'

'Well, that's obvious,' L drawled. 'It's also not specific enough.' 

'Fine, then,' B said, beginning to lose his patience with being spoken to like he was an idiot - obviously, he was less intelligent than L, everyone was less intelligent than L, but he wasn't an idiot- he was the best orphan in the whole orphanage! He realized, absently, that he'd never introduced himself- so he couldn't fault L, actually. He'd just assumed that L knew everything. 

'I'm B,' B said, 'The first in line to succeed you. And I want-' he broke off, and rushed forward, suddenly, so suddenly that L had no time to react-- and wrapped his arms around him, knocking the breath out of him in the process- 'This.'

Drug addicts will tell you that the first high is the highest, that they spend the rest of their days searching for that initial moment of pure euphoria. B would agree with them on that. Not in that L's potency wore off- not by any means. Only in that the first high was the highest. Because B hadn't been expecting it, because he'd had no idea how euphoric he would feel- he'd had no idea how intoxicating it would be to hold L in his arms. His senses left him, his mind left him; he wasn't conscious of anything except for bliss.

L stiffened, immediately, as soon as B touched him, not that B noticed it, but when B appeared not to have malicious intent, L relaxed again. He didn't shove B away, nor attempt to reciprocate the hug at all, he just stood there, allowing him. After a minute, the shock appeared to wear off, and he spoke up, his voice just as steady as it'd been a minute ago,

'B. Please get off me.' 

B didn't listen to L; barely heard him. L tried again, with conclusive results. Finally, he touched B's shoulder gingerly, like it was covered in dirt and he wanted to keep his hands as clean as possible, and halfheartedly shoved him away. B whimpered quietly and clung to him. 

'...Will you go away if I promise that you can come back tomorrow?' L finally asked. 

B was still for a moment, then he nodded. 

\--

Physical touch is a rare and valuable commodity at Wammy's House.

B is better than all the other orphans, he thinks, because he gets to be close to someone, every day. Gets to be close to Him, every day. All of them wish they were in B's place, he thinks, because they look at the list of rankings, and see which orphans matter the most, and everyone wants to be right at the top of the list, but that's where B is and none of them can take it away from him. 

Children aren't meant to do all work and no play. An old nursery rhyme goes something like that, B offhandedly thinks, but he can't really remember because he doesn't listen to nursery rhymes. 

Some of them get sick. Some of them, like the orphan who used to be second-best, before B, want to stop working altogether. They aren't allowed to do that, so they try to take themselves off the roster. And the only way they can do that is if they die. Most of the time, they succeed. They're very smart kids, after all. 

B isn't like that. B is better. B gets sick sometimes, but he has his medicine, his drug known as L. 

\--

L believed in the principle of regulation. In order to prevent the abuse of a substance, the governing body should not ban, but instead regulate that substance.

So, fifteen minutes before the bell rang and it was time for B to go to class, whether B liked it or not, L found himself in a disused bathroom that fortunately happened to be relatively close to his living quarters. 

He would stand in the bathroom stall on the far side, so no one would see them, just in case. If found, they would get in trouble. B got in trouble often, so the thought was not particularly discouraging to him, but L had never been in trouble. He didn't think he wanted to be. 

B would push open the stall door, close it behind him, and turn to face L. L would be leaning against the wall, just beside the toilet. 

B would look at him for a moment, like he always did. L had asked B, once, why he did that; why he wasted a moment just to look. B had said that L was beautiful, that he wanted to appreciate that beauty before he was too far gone to notice. 

'Far gone?'

'Yes,' B had said, 'After a minute, I can't think anymore. It's like you- Just being around you impairs my senses significantly.' That was the thing about Wammy's. They were all going insane, but at least they could describe their slow decent into madness using superlative vocabulary. 

'I hope that hasn't impacted your studies,' L observed mildly. 

B grinned with too many teeth. 'No, of course it hasn't. I'd argue for the contrary.' 

After B looked at L for a moment, L would uncross his arms from his chest-- he always crossed his arms over his chest; that way, it was obvious when he was allowing B to come closer. B would walk forward, hesitantly, then lean against L, and rest his head on his chest. L would wrap his arms around him.

That was all. 

They would stand like that. B had never implied that he wanted more, never implied that he wanted to kiss L, even, never tried to lift up his shirt.

One time, B had slipped his hands under L’s shirt. Said that he had a fever, that he was burning up, that L was so cold, just this once, please, L. L had carefully lifted B’s hands from his torso and stepped away, out of the stall, and B had known not to follow.

B hadn’t been back for three days, after that. The reason for his absence, the first day, was because he was in the sick bay, too weak to move, and the reason for his absence the second and third was because he was doing all the coursework he’d missed. 

L knew this, because he had asked, an odd event in itself; L hardly ever asked questions. He had asked his caretaker how B was doing in his classes. His caretaker had answered him, and then quietly inquired how he'd known to ask-- after all, there wasn't any way L should know if B was sick, was there?

L hadn't answered him. It wasn't like it had ever been explicitly stated that L shouldn't pry into the affairs of Wammy's. And if he had been given five extra cases to solve the next day, well- he liked solving them anyway. 

B still had the traces of a fever, the day the doctor had deemed him well enough to go back to class. The day he broke the routine.

L was wearing one of his button-up shirts, the one that itched at the collar, because all of his other shirts were still in the laundry, even though L knew that his caretaker did his laundry separate from everyone else's and never experienced any delays in doing it. L already regretted asking about B. 

L was standing against the wall, like nothing had changed. B hadn't paused in the doorway- the first change- instead, he'd ran to L and held him, shaking slightly. After a minute, he had reached up, and started undoing the buttons of L's shirt. 

L had protested once, quietly, halfheartedly, 'You're going to get me sick, B.' 

'I can't get you sick,' B had said, 'You're like medicine. You'd cure yourself just by existing.' That didn't make a whole lot of sense to L, so he didn't say anything, nor did he say anything when B finished unbuttoning his shirt and wrapped his arms around him underneath it, and took unsteady breaths against L's chest.

After a few minutes, B had stopped shaking. 

This was risky, L thought, risky to break the routine like this, but he couldn't bring himself to stop B, he just couldn't, he needed the light weight of B's head on his chest, he couldn't bear for there to be the thin material between them, not right now, not after it had been so long. 

The bell rang, and for a moment, L was afraid that B wouldn't leave, but he did, carefully doing L's shirt back up and stepping away. B looked a lot better, honestly; even his skin looked a bit less sickly than it had fifteen minutes ago. 

L had watched B go, and then he'd crept back to the basement, feeling better than he had in the past four days. He tried not to admit that he needed the time maybe almost as much as B did.


	6. Cigarettes

'Could I have one?' B asked. 

She was sitting on a ledge, somewhere relatively secluded, about a mile from her high school. The distance from the high school was important, in that it was walk-able-- L, sitting next to her, seemed to think it an easy matter to cut her last class of the day, just as easy as walking the distance was. 

B couldn't exactly disagree-- it hadn't been a difficult decision, at all, when L had informed her that she- when asked about her whereabouts- was skipping her last period, and had subsequently invited B to accompany her. 

Well. B had, sort of, invited herself, and L had only objected once, so- same difference, really. 

L smirked slightly, and handed B a cigarette, and her lighter. B felt like there might be a bit of mockery in that smirk, but she ignored it, lit the cigarette, and- like she'd seen L do- put it to her lips and took a breath. She immediately started choking, and it was only luck that she didn't drop it. 

L, amused, held her hand out for the lighter. Once B saw it, she shook her head, lit the cigarette again- it had gone out- and tried again. The sensation of her throat being burned up was a bit more bearable this time. 

B closed her eyes, and imagined she was L. She imagined she looked just liked L, sitting casually, effortlessly, **perfectly,** on the cement ledge, her cigarette hanging between two fingers, her long, straight, dark, hair flowing slightly in the wind. 'Admirable,' L said, interrupting B's thought process-- not that she minded. She liked everything L said to her. 

She opened her eyes, and tilted her head slightly, like she'd seen L do. She hoped she looked like L. 'Oh?' She asked with affected curiosity, hoping L would elaborate-- her heart beating slightly faster at the praise. The burning in the back of her throat barely registered, now. 

'People usually give up after their first drag,' L elaborated. 'But you only coughed once- that's only one more time than I did.' 

B smiled, puffing up slightly with pride. 'Thank you,' she said, then, to find out more about L, or maybe to just keep talking to her, she asked, 'How old were you when you started smoking, then?'

L shrugged, slightly, her eyes drifting away from B and into the distance. 'Two years ago, about.' 

'Cool,' B said, then immediately felt like putting her head in her hands-- who says that? That was a ridiculous thing to say! She hurriedly continued, 'I mean, not **cool,** but like- that's interesting, I guess.' She giggled nervously. A minute later, L still hadn't said anything in reply-- oh fuck, what if she'd messed it up? What if L was regretting her decision to let B come with? What if she was about to get up and leave-

'Do you like it, then?' L asked off-handedly, turning back to B and idly gesturing to the cigarette still held between her two fingers. 'Will you be wanting more?' 

B smiled at L, instinctively. She thought for a moment. Truthfully, she didn't exactly like the sensation, and she didn't exactly like the idea of getting lung cancer, either, but-- **L** smoked. **L** was offering B cigarettes. This could be like- their thing. B and L smoked. **Of course,** B would agree. 'Uh, yeah,' B said, 'I would. Are you, uh, offering me them, or...?'

'I am,' L said. 'You'll reimburse me, of course, but it makes more sense for only one of us to get them.' 

'Oh, yeah, sure, of course,' B agreed. She would've given L money simply because she'd asked for it. 

L paused for a moment. 'Actually, since you're taller than me,' she said, making B wince a little, internally-- she knew she was taller than L, and she hated it. L looked so perfect, next to her, and she looked gangling and out of place. Oblivious to B's slight distress, L continued, 'It might make more sense for you to buy them. There's a corner store, a few miles from here, that doesn't check for ID as long as you could conceivably look old enough.' 

'Yeah, sure, that makes sense,' B repeated eagerly, entirely ignoring that L had essentially just manipulated her into buying her cigarettes-- which was, not to mention, against the law-- after all, B could've just said no, and she was certain that L wouldn't have objected. But B would never say no to L-- the idea was inconceivable. She couldn't really hide how thrilled she felt-- L had just asked her to do something for her! 

L nodded absently, then reached out, and cupped B's chin, tilting it slightly from side to side to see her face. B sucked in a breath, rapidly. She dropped her hand again. L's **fingers--** they were cold, and confident, and- B's skin was tingling. She really, really wanted L to touch her again. 'If you were wearing makeup,' L said, 'You could definitely look a few years older. Do you have any?'

B blinked. 'Uh, at my house? No, I don't.' She paused, then hurriedly added, not wanting to disappoint L, 'I could buy some though. Easily.' 

L shook her head. 'No, if you've never worn it before, you wouldn't know what kind to get.' 

B bit her lip-- there was no way she was going to waste this opportunity. 'I could come to your house,' she said, before she lost her nerve, 'Because you'd have the right kind, and then the next time, I'd know what kind to get.' 

L shook her head again. 'I'll bring it in to school. Meet me in the girls' bathroom on the second floor this time tomorrow- ah, unless you need to go to your class.' 

B hurriedly shook her head-- she'd miss days of school for the chance to see L, there was no way she cared about ditching one class. 'No, I don't,' she said, 'I'll be there.' She blushed, and giggled nervously again. 'And, yeah, that makes more sense then my coming to your house.' 

L hummed absently, and fell once more into silence. After a couple more minutes had passed, she held out her hand. B, having been fantasizing about this exact thing for about a minute, put her hand in L's. L raised an eyebrow. 'The lighter.' 

'Oh!' B said, pulling her hand away as if it'd been burned, 'Yeah, of course,' putting the lighter in L's hand instead. L looked askance at B for another moment, then pocketed it. She stood up, dropping her own cigarette on the ground and scuffing it with the bottom of her shoe. B watched, then copied her.

L walked back to the school, B following her. 'I'll see you tomorrow, then?' B asked. 

L paused for a moment-- the car that was supposed to pick her up had just pulled up beside the school. 'Yeah,' she said, 'You'll see me tomorrow.'


	7. Show-Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CHAPTER WARNING: EXPLICIT CONTENT

'Do- you want me to?'

Yes,' L says steadily, 'I want you to.' And that's all it takes, really. B stands up, and abruptly realizes that he has no idea what he's doing. He- he can’t just stand in front of L and do it, that’s- he shifts uncomfortably. 

‘Uh, should I, uh, go over to the bed?’ he mumbles, managing not to stumble too much over his words, though his cheeks nonetheless flush. L is collected and everything he does appears effortless and he never stumbles over his words. He’s likely regretting asking this of B already. 

‘If you want,’ L says, his eyes wide and black like two holes, swallowing B whole, sounding as unaffected as always. B glances at him again then walks over to the bed, sitting down and scooching back a bit. L stands up and walks over, sitting on the corner of the bed.

B shuffles back a bit more. Should he just- Slowly, he leans back until he’s laying on the bed. Something about it makes him feel horribly exposed, about the idea of just laying here as L stares coldly at him with that coal-black gaze, but something about the situation adds to his arousal, the arousal that he’d had since L had first proposed the idea. Can L see it, he wonders? Is he laughing at B, for it? He certainly isn’t aroused himself. Oh, well, he’ll see it pretty soon, anyway.

Before B can lose his confidence, he indelicately shrugs his pants and his boxers down to his knees, realizing too late that he might’ve made more of a show of it. Oh well, it’s not like L would care-- probably. He trails a hand over his stomach, to make up for it, and chances a glance back at L. L is chewing on his fingernail and his eyes are riveted to B-- does that mean something? B hopes it does. 

B is… Rather practiced, at getting himself off. He wanks rather frequently, actually. Always to thoughts of L. He closes his eyes, and tries to pretend that L isn’t watching him, so he doesn’t freeze up out of embarrassment. 

He pretends… He pretends that he’s in L’s room because L’s gone away again, and B, plagued by thoughts of him, thought he might feel closer to him, here. He opens the door, walks over to the bed, and lays down, shrugging down his pants, trailing a hand down his stomach, and… Wrapping his fingers around his length. Slowly, he begins stroking, teasing himself. 

He thinks of L. Just flashes, really-- too on edge to think up an elaborate scenario. L’s eyes, wide because B just shoved him backwards and is leaning forward to kiss him again- L’s ribs, pale and thin and delicate beneath B’s hands and lips as he makes his way down his body- L’s eyes again, a few tears leaking out of the sides as B fucks him because it’s too much for him to handle, he’d never thought anything could feel like this- B increases his pace slightly, at that thought- L’s thighs, pale and thin and delicate as B trails his hands over them, hitches them up so- suddenly, L’s eyes for a third time, punctured, blood leaking down his face because B needed to get rid of that awful fucking void- 

B’s eyes shoot open. This happens, sometimes, violent thoughts creep into his fantasies, but not now, it can’t happen now, not while he needs to seem at least a bit attractive, not while L’s watching him- 

Oh fuck, L is watching him. The situation in its entirety dawns on B as he glances over at L again, stuttering in his rhythm for a moment. Part of him wants to shrivel up and disappear, but the other part, the much larger part, wants to stay like this, wants to stay like this forever, stay spread out and exposed because it makes L’s gaze rivet to him-- he’d do anything to make that gaze stay riveted to him. 

B doesn’t lose himself in fantasies, this time- he closes his eyes again, and thinks about how L is watching him. There's this dirtysick feeling in the pit of his stomach, mixing with his arousal, and B is gangly and awkward and embarrassed and human and there's no way L is turned on by this, absolutely none, he just thinks it's funny, he's laughing at B, so B should just pull up his pants and walk away and pretend this never happened but that’s not something B would do in a million years. 

This is making B feel dirtysick, he’s just a show, a show for L’s amusement, and it makes it worse that he knows that he’d do this forever if he could get some kind of confirmation that L was the tiniest bit aroused by it. This feeling, though- there’s something intoxicating about it. L’s eyes are heavy on his skin. Part of him likes the idea that he’s making a fool of himself- he is a fool. This is all he’s good for. He’s good for this. He tilts his head back, thrusts his hips up slightly, lets out a low moan, and loses himself-- loses himself in the feel of his hand, in the disgusted feeling in the pit of his stomach, and in the heavy weight of L’s eyes. 

He comes obnoxiously quickly. He should’ve lasted longer-- he isn’t inexperienced, not with touching himself at least, so he should’ve been able to-- he flushes abruptly when he comes back to himself, retreats his hand, and opens his eyes. He looks to L for some kind of direction, even as his stomach is dirtied by his own cum-- what will they do now? Is L aroused? Does he want B to get him off? Will-

‘You can use my shower,’ L says tonelessly, a tinge of breathiness to his voice the only hint that he was in any way affected by what he’d just seen. ‘To clean yourself off.’ As an afterthought, he adds, ‘If you’d like.’ 

B hates himself, abruptly, and hates L more, but he tosses a smirk at L, shrugs off his pants so they won’t get dirtied as they would if they pulled them up, and walks to the bathroom casually, as if he couldn’t care less about sauntering around L’s bedroom half-naked. 

He touches himself again, under the hot bathwater, imaging that L might wank in this same shower. L is sitting on the couch, again, when he returns-- B doesn’t think he can act normally around L right then, so he tosses a brief “goodnight” to him and is about to leave the room when L interrupts him. 

‘Uh, actually,’ L says, sounding hesitant for the first time, ‘If you’d like, you could sleep here. Uh, if you’d like.’ 

‘Oh,’ B says faintly, vaguely aware that his heart has started beating faster again. ‘I, uh- I’d like that,’ he says quite quickly, because there isn’t anything else he can say, really. L smiles at him, softly, and B suddenly thinks that he is very much in love with him. He traipses back to L’s bed, and after a pause, strips down to his boxers and slips under L’s covers. He doesn’t go to sleep, but he stays still enough that L likely thinks he has. A couple hours later, L slips in bed next to him and lets his arm rest between B’s arm and his torso, his hand dangling over B’s chest and his fingertips brushing against B’s ribs. 

B is so lucky- so, incredibly lucky. L could’ve detested him, so to have him harbor some kind of- romantic? Sexual? Desire for him is nothing short of a miracle. B grins, into the darkness, and once he’s certain L’s asleep, he brings his hand up and curls it around L’s.


End file.
